


Starving

by misscai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crushes, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fainting, Female Reader, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Near Death Experiences, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Sickfic, Tony Stark Lives, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23447080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscai/pseuds/misscai
Summary: Were you losing your powers? Were you sick? Were you dying? None of those things were acceptable, not in the least. You needed to figure out some kind of cure, and fast.Reader's powers are weakening, as is her body, and she has no idea how to fix it -- but asking for help and seeming weak in front of the Avengers is not something she wants to do. Two determined Starks refuse to let her stand alone. And Peter Parker might just be the cure.
Relationships: Avengers Team & Reader, Peter Parker & Reader, Peter Parker/Reader, Tony Stark & Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 203





	Starving

You tried your hardest to keep ‘panic’ out of your personal dictionary, but that seemed to be the only definition for the tense, sick feeling dominating your torso. You paced the length of your room in the newly-built Avengers compound—more like a hotel than a home, as you were the only resident who actually stayed there permanently—and when pacing didn’t settle you, you groaned and sprawled out on the floor.

Your reflexes were slowing—the holographic training bots in the range had gotten in too many shots on you, leaving little bruises and shock marks all over your skin. Even worse than that, you had tried to block a few of the shots, but the shields you’d made didn’t stop a thing. They’d fizzled out like someone had pulled a plug. And at the end of your training—an hour shorter than you usually lasted—there had been blood dripping from both nostrils. It had taken every ounce of strength you had left to drag yourself back to your room, where you’d promptly collapsed on the couch and slept the entire day away.

The sun was setting now, and you still felt weak and shaky despite the nap. Hence the panic. Were you losing your powers? Were you sick? Were you dying? None of those things were acceptable, not in the least. You needed to figure out some kind of cure, and fast.

“Ma’am, the boss is on the phone for you,” FRIDAY announced. You flopped your arm over your eyes, groaning. You’d been dodging Tony’s calls for a week now—ever since you’d started noticing your health in decline. If you told him, he’d have all kinds of doctors onsite within the hour. And you didn’t want their questions or their needles.

“Can I avoid him anymore?”

“Probably not,” the AI said bluntly. You sighed, rolling onto your stomach and forcing a smile into your voice.

“Hi, Tony. How’s everything in… where are you, again?”

“Zurich. God, don’t you ever watch the news? It’s not like Stark Industries is some D-list startup.” You could sense the eyeroll over the line. “Anyway, not the point. What have you been so busy with that you can’t answer my calls?”

“Just trying to beat everyone’s high scores in the gym,” you said—not exactly a lie but not the whole truth, either. The reality was that you spent most of your days staring at your StarkPhone and hoping for a message from… well, anyone, really. For a couple months after the fight against Thanos, the team had stuck together like glue, mourning their lost and celebrating the found. But then the six-month marker came and went, and everyone scattered, moving to the next stage of their lives. The new compound, a sprawling, gorgeous, high-tech facility, emptied out, leaving you alone for the past seventeen days. Not that you were keeping count.

“Uh-huh, yeah, still not seeing how that justifies ignoring me,” Tony deadpanned. “FRIDAY says you haven’t left the building in a week. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Right, I’m supposed to believe you’ve given up on joyrides and drive-throughs?”

“I’m watching my calories.”

“And the car-stealing?”

“Not as much fun when you aren’t here to yell at me,” you quipped. There was a muffled sound of skin-hitting-skin; likely Tony’s palm hitting Tony’s forehead. “I’m fine, Tony. I’m eating my vegetables and doing my cardio. Don’t worry.” He was quiet for a minute.

“I’ll be back in 3 days.” Then he hung up. You dropped your head to the floor, muttering an _ow_ under your breath.

.

It was all about willpower, you figured. A full ten hours’ sleep each night, healthy meals, and mixing meditation in with your training workouts would have you back into shape by the time Tony arrived. The next morning, you ran the obstacle course, then ran it again, and again, until your arms gave out on the rope climb and you dropped like a stone to the mat below. Then you had lunch, took a short nap, and went to the holo-bot course to practice.

In all of your free time, you had re-watched an old animated favorite from your childhood, and had begun adapting the fighting styles to work with your powers. Instead of forming actual weapons with your energy, you wielded the energy as the weapon. It moved as a conscious thing, swirling and dipping around you. You could twitch your fingers and send it snapping outwards in an attack, following your eyes to track your targets. Or, if it sensed danger, it would turn protective, shielding you from harm.

Well, in theory.

All the control you’d gained over your powers was useless if the powers were weak. And weak was the understatement of the century at the moment. Even your warmup—striking critical points on stationary, non-combative bots—left you drained and shaky. Still, you pushed yourself through the rest of the exercise, swiping the blood away when it started to drip down your chin. When a barrage of shocks stung every inch of your back, you shouted out a frustrated yell and let the power explode from your body. All the bots shattered in blue holographic pieces, and you dropped to the ground, unconscious.

“Ma’am!” FRIDAY’s voice brought you back, and you blinked groggily against the training room lights. A migraine stabbed through your head, temple-to-temple pain rousing your nausea again. “Your temperature spiked; your heart rate is fluctuating.”

“Yeah, I can feel that,” you muttered, your chest thudding in alarming fits and starts. “How long was I out?”

“Four minutes thirty-two seconds. I believe I should call the boss.”

“No, don’t!” Combatting all your malaise, you lifted yourself to your feet, staggering to the left slightly until you could get your balance. “I’m alright. I’m fine. That last move was just too ambitious, that’s all.”

“I don’t think you should be alone in your condition,” FRIDAY pressed. “Captain Rogers—”

“Is enjoying pseudo-retirement. Leave him alone.”

“What about Peter Parker?”

“Do _not_ bring Peter Parker here.” The young hero made you feel weak in the knees—no need to exacerbate your already-questionable condition. You didn’t want him to see you at anything less than your best. It would throw a wrench into your multi-step ‘win Peter Parker’s heart’ plan. “I’ll be alright after I’m cleaned up.” With that, you started to slog your way down the hall towards the elevators.

“Technically, I don’t need permission to contact the boss.”

“Technically, you don’t. But you like me too much to do it.”

“It’s precisely because I like you that I worry for your health,” FRIDAY stated as gently as the AI could manage. “You’re burning yourself out.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reiterated. “Can you just start up the shower please?”

“Already on.” FRIDAY let out a very human-sounding sigh. “Can I at least run some scans? Just to check against illness?”

“Sure.” You leaned heavily against the wall of the elevator, watching the doors slide shut with a sinking feeling in your gut. “Maybe it’s just the flu.”

.

You slept on and off the entire next day, too weak to do much more than make it to the bathroom and back. Your nose bled almost every time you stood vertically, and the pain lancing through your skull made each blink of your eyes a chore. FRIDAY confirmed that, aside from the migraine, you didn’t have any kind of infection or virus. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t the norm. Figures.

The Mind Stone’s power shifted restlessly in your veins, swirling from your toes to your fingertips and back again, begging to be used. Late in the evening, after you’d forced down a sandwich, you tried to go through your practice motions just to release some energy; it proved to be a horrible mistake, as you hardly made it ten minutes before scrambling to the bathroom to reacquaint yourself with your dinner. After that you threw in the towel, climbing back into bed and pulling the covers up over your chin. With any luck, you’d feel better in the morning.

.

Luck wasn’t really your strongest suit.

“Yeah, something’s up.” Tony pulled the covers off of you, and it was a testament to your exhaustion that you did nothing more than blink at him. “You’re not a sleeper-inner. It’s almost noon—why are you in bed?”

“Just taking the day off,” you said, giving him a guileless smile. “I didn’t think you’d be back until later. I was going to make dinner.”

“You look like hell.”

“Aw, thanks.” Tony frowned, leaning forward to press his palm to your forehead and yanking it back after a half-second. You—your reflexes slowed—moved to slap it away, your hand slicing through the air and not even touching him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re roasting. Get up, we’re going to the med bay.” He reached for your elbow, but you pulled your arm away.

“I can stand up by myself, I’m not a child.” Your petulant voice said otherwise, but no matter. You scooted to the edge of the mattress and stood, but almost immediately fell to your knees, a choking pain seizing your head and neck. Tony was there in an instant, holding you upright while he called for FRIDAY to bring up a suit of armor. Through teary eyes, you watched the nanites crawl over Tony’s skin, strengthening him so he could scoop you up in his arms and carry you to the elevators.

“How long has this been going on?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, and Tony just shook his head.

“Not talking to you; you’re in time-out. FRIDAY?”

“Steady decline for ten days. Beginning symptoms were a low fever and fatigue. Recently experiencing nosebleeds, nausea, vomiting, imbalance, muscle weakness, and inability to stay awake for extended periods. No known illness matches all symptoms.”

“Narc,” you snipped, making a face at the ceiling.

“Why wasn’t I informed immediately?”

“I asked FRIDAY not to tell.”

“Stop talking,” Tony barked, squeezing you a little tighter as he exited the elevator into the med bay. He deposited you on a cot, retracting his suit as he bustled around, hooking up monitor after monitor. You snorted a laugh.

“Just like the first time we met.”

“I said stop.” He didn’t slow down, studying every display that FRIDAY pulled up with the kind of intensity that only Tony Stark could pull off. You saw the full-body glow of the Mind Stone’s power, watched it fluctuate as it moved through your veins. You could see your heart rate, dipping low enough to make your chest hurt and then ratcheting up until you felt like you’d been sprinting for an hour. All in all, it didn’t look great. Tony was quiet for another long minute, then he turned on you. His expression had you cowed into the mattress. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how supremely _pissed_ I am at you right now. You’ve done a lot of stupid stuff, but this… well, it’s not blue-ribbon-worthy, but it’s a damn close second. What was the long game here, huh? You just wear yourself down until your heart gives out? Then what? Someone comes back home and trips over your body in the foyer?”

“No,” you said, a flush rising on your cheeks.

“Maybe not the foyer, then. The kitchen? Training room? Facedown in the pool, like some kind of F. Scott Fitzgerald throwback?”

“No, I—”

“Oh, _please_ , give me your justification. Go ahead. Go on.”

“I didn’t want to seem weak, okay?” You covered your eyes with your hands, blocking out the fluorescent lights in the med bay. “I want to be worthy of being an Avenger. I want to be able to stand on my own.”

“And how many times do we have to tell you, _you don’t have to?”_ Tony made a noise of frustration, prompting you to peek out from beneath your hands. “You are the most _stubborn_ —This is a team. We work as a team. Which means we have each other’s backs, no matter what.”

“That’s why I have to be strong—so I can have your backs!”

“You can’t be strong if you’re dead! Goddammit, what is so hard to understand about that?” Tony shook his head, stalking towards the med bay doors. “FRIDAY, keep an eye on her. And tell me if anything happens.”

“Aye, boss.”

.

When the door slid open again a few hours later, you braced yourself to face Tony’s anger once more. But instead it was the youngest Stark who climbed up onto the bed, clutching a tiny purple purse with sequins all over it.

“I brought cookies,” Morgan said, opening the zipper on the bag and pulling out a handful of frosted animal crackers. “But Daddy doesn’t know.”

“I won’t tell him,” you promised, munching on what looked like a giraffe. Or a horse. It was hard to say. “Did you like your vacation?”

“Mmhmm. There was a lot of snow.”

“Did you have a snowball fight?” Morgan grinned, nodding excitedly. “I bet you won, didn’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“’Course you did.” You tickled the girl’s side, making her giggle for a moment before going serious.

“I heard Daddy and Mommy talking.”

“Oh, yeah? What did they say?”

“Daddy said you’re really sick.” Morgan blinked at you with big, dark eyes. So much like her father’s. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, ‘course I will, ladybug,” you said with a reassuring smile. “I just need you to do a little magic for me. Have you got a spell that’ll fix me?” Morgan was quiet as she thought, then her eyes went wide and she nodded, scrambling off the bed and running out of the room, so eager that she barely paused to wave at her dad as he leaned against the door frame. Tony eyed you for a moment before shoving off the wall and striding into the room.

“We need more brainpower working on a solution. Who do you want to call?” This was a fight you wouldn’t win. And, truthfully, your panic was turning to all-out fear that you wouldn’t get better. And you wanted to.

“Whoever you want.” Tony gave a quick nod, already tapping at his phone. “Except Peter! Don’t call Peter.”

“Why not? The kid’s a whiz, he might have some good ideas.”

“I just… don’t want him to see me like this.” Tony snorted under his breath, and you blushed. “Shut up.” You eased yourself to a sitting position, watching as Tony set up a virtual round-table discussion. Wanda, Shuri, Bruce, Stephen, and Steve all joined the call, their hologram figures visibly confused.

“Alright, gang. We’ve got a situation. Our sweet, stupid new Avenger has had a health crisis, neglected to tell anyone, and is now deteriorating by the day. Thoughts on how to fix it?” You studiously avoided Steve’s gaze, already feeling the weight of it on your shoulders.

“That’s—What are the symptoms?” Bruce was already in task-mode, though you didn’t miss the crease of worry between his brows. FRIDAY relayed them back to the group, also making note of the things you had tried to correct them.

“Wanda, anything like that ever happened to you?” Steve asked.

“No. I got headaches and nausea during the experimentation process, but nothing this severe.” She looked to you with sympathy. “Have your powers changed? Do you feel… out of control?”

“No,” you said honestly. “I have more control over them now than I ever have. It’s just… They’re weaker, somehow. I can make them do what I want, but they don’t always work. Like… I can make a shield, but it doesn’t block everything. If that makes sense.”

“Do you find that using your powers makes things better, or worse?” Stephen had his hands steepled in front of his face.

“Both. If I don’t use them, they’re… restless. They keep me jittery, like I’ve had too much caffeine. But when I do use them, it’s exhausting.” You raised a hand to demonstrate, letting a ribbon-like stream of glowing yellow light spiral into the room. As you flexed the power, your nose started to bleed and your head ached until tears formed in your eyes.

“That’s enough,” Steve said with gentle iron in his voice. “Stop.”

“So. Any ideas?” Tony asked the group. Nobody said a word. “Come on, guys, the combined IQ of everyone present should be illegal. Surely we have something.” Silence. Fear twisted in your stomach, but you refused to show it. You shook your head, twitching your lips into a smile.

“Don’t worry. I’m tougher than I look. I can figure this out.” Tony shot you a glare of warning, which you ignored. “It’ll be fine.”

“Twenty-four hours. We’ll talk again this time tomorrow. Come with a solution.” With that, Tony ended the call. “You know, saying ‘it’s fine’ over and over doesn’t actually make things okay.”

“I know. But positive thinking never hurt.” For a moment there was quiet.

“Get some rest. FRIDAY’s going to run some tests and algorithms, see what we can figure out.”

“Tony,” you said before he could leave. “I just… Well, if anything happens—”

“Don’t start that.”

“ _If_ anything happens, it’s on me. Not you. Or anyone else.” You smiled wryly at him. “I know you and Steve will eat yourselves alive with guilt, so. Don’t.”

“Yeah, that’s likely.” Tony exited the med bay, dimming the lights as he did.

.

Smells roused you the next morning. Cool, sterile air first of all, making your nose sting. Warm bread, making your mouth water. Bacon, making your stomach roil with nausea. Then a much more pleasant smell: warm, dark, woodsy, musk with a lighter vanilla swirled throughout. _Cologne_. You took a deep breath of it, opening your eyes drowsily in the morning light. You blinked, blinked again, and then a small squeak alerted your company to your awakening.

“Hey, oh my God,” Peter said, abandoning whatever he’d been tinkering with to come to your bedside. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You fidgeted with your hair, hoping that it had stayed braided and under control through the night. “Why are you here?”

“Are you kidding me? You’re sick! Of course I’d be here!”

“I just, I asked Tony not to tell you. How’d you know?”

“Morgan called on Mister Stark’s pho—Wait, you told people? Why didn’t you tell me? Who else knows?” He looked hurt, and you twisted your fingers together in your lap.

“I didn’t want him to tell anyone! I just wanted to handle it on my own, before—” _Before I became a burden. Before I looked weak. Before anyone thought I was unworthy of being here._ All the reasons were at the tip of your tongue, and Peter’s trusting, curious, concerned gaze made you want to spill them all. But you bit them back, giving him a mild smile. “Before this all got out of hand. I’m fine, really. I’m totally fine. Just a little tired.”

“That’s not what FRIDAY’s data says.” Peter gestured to the hologram screens floating around the bed. “I mean, this is serious stuff.” It was true; no denying it. You heaved a sigh, closing your eyes for a long moment.

“I know.”

“Mister Stark has a cure, right? Or, he’s working on one?”

“We called a few people last night. Nobody has anything yet.” The unspoken question of _how long_ hung between them. Then Peter grabbed a tray from the bedside table, setting it on your lap: buttered toast and bacon strips.

“Well, I’m here to help. Tell me everything.” So you did. From the very beginning of your decline up until now, you spared no detail, not even when Peter winced or looked away. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head by the time you finished. “So you can’t use your powers, but you can’t not use them, either.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“But you’ve only used them in training exercises. Like, in combat situations.”

“Right.” Peter’s eyes lit up excitedly.

“Maybe that’s it, then! Maybe you need to use them for something else!”

“I don’t follow,” you admitted.

“The powers came from the Mind Stone, which was basically a source of unlimited intelligence. Maybe they feed on that brain-energy. Your brain might not be enough to sustain them—not that your brain isn’t impressive, or anything, because it totally is, I mean, you’re really smart and all—but I just mean, going from a vessel of cosmic power to a human body is a huge difference.”

“I haven’t used my powers to get into someone’s head since I first got them,” you mused, seeing the logic that Peter was employing. But then you shook your head. “It’s been months since then—wouldn’t this have happened sooner than now?”

“You have a point. Okay, so, what else has changed between when everything was normal and now?” You thought about it. When everything was normal, there was a fight going on. Using your powers had drained you, but only because you’d used them in excess. And then you’d channeled a huge amount of cosmic energy through your body, protecting Tony from the devastating effects of the Snap. Since then, your powers were stronger, so maybe that was different, but it had still been months since even that had happened. The only real thing that had changed was…

“People,” you said softly. “I used to be around people. We all lived together, until—”

“Until everyone moved out of the compound,” Peter finished, his eyes wide. You knew he was probably remembering the same things you were: all the hugs and held hands at memorial services for Natasha and Vision; movie nights in the common room where everyone piled on top of each other, trying for some semblance of normalcy; training and sparring sessions, always a tangle of limbs and good-natured ribbing; late nights and whispered conversations and a knee pressed to a knee, keeping the nightmares at bay. “Maybe it isn’t mind energy—it’s just other energy.” Before you could say anything, Peter grabbed both of your hands in his, squeezing them tight. “Is that better? Does that help?”

“I-I… uh…” Your cheeks were burning, your palms tingling. You closed your eyes so you wouldn’t have to look at Peter’s hopeful, handsome face, choosing instead to focus on the powers inside you. They had pooled at your fingertips, yearning to be released; slowly, you allowed them to slip into Peter’s skin, and a breath of relief left your lungs. It didn’t hurt. It felt… _amazing_. You were used to the way the Mind Stone’s power felt when it was tangled with your own energy—it had a sort of hot-cold feel, like the way aloe felt on a burn. But Peter’s… essence, his energy, or whatever the term was, was different. The sensation was warm, spicy almost, like cinnamon, but smooth and sweet, like vanilla. It was so strong that you could practically smell and taste it. It was so _him_ that you’d never be able to get it out of your head.

“Is it working?” You looked at him, and Peter blinked. “Whoa. Your eyes are… _gold_. Is that good? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “Yeah, I feel good.”

“Vitals stabilizing,” FRIDAY announced. “Temperature is lowering.”

“It’s helping you.” Peter’s grin was so bright, you couldn’t help but smile in return. “You’re gonna be okay. Oh, thank God.” He sat on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes in relief. You let out a calmed breath of your own, concentrating fully on your powers. They were running rampant, now, climbing up Peter’s arms and dousing you in that glorious Peter Parker feeling. It was seeking something, the epicenter, the place where the energy was strongest. It was close, so close… but you jerked your hands away, severing the connection and reeling the power back in.

“Sorry, I—I’m sorry,” you stammered when Peter gave you that confused, hurt-puppy look. “It was… I almost got in your head.”

“Oh. It’s fine, really, I mean, if that would help—”

“No, no, it’s a total violation of privacy, especially if I didn’t ask, and—I’m sorry, I really don’t have much control over that part, I’ll practice more—” Then a sudden thought occurred to you, and your hands flew to your mouth. “Oh, my God, I didn’t even think—are you okay?”

“Me? What?”

“If my powers feed on energy, wasn’t I taking your energy away? Do you feel alright? I shouldn’t have done so much, I’m s—”

“Stop! No more ‘sorry’!” Peter covered your mouth with one hand, laughing as he did so. You pretended like you couldn’t taste his energy on your lips. You totally couldn’t. No way. “I’m okay. It didn’t feel like you were sucking the life out of me or anything. It just felt like… holding your hand.” Were you imagining things, or were his cheeks a little pink, too? “It was nice,” he said, softer, his gaze flicking between your eyes and his hand on your mouth. You held your breath as he removed his hand, hoping you weren’t hallucinating the way his pupils were dilated.

“It _was_ nice,” you echoed in a whisper. Peter moved closer, leaning towards you, his lips parting just the tiniest bit. You were a mere inch apart now, and you had never wanted something so badly in your entire life. If you just lifted you chin…

“What did you do?” Tony asked without preamble as he entered the med bay, startling Peter so much that he jumped and stuck himself to the ceiling. “FRIDAY alerted me that the crisis was over. So, what was the cure?” He looked between the two of you. You could only imagine what you looked like: mouth agape, still leaning forward towards a body that wasn’t there, your face flushed and your eyes wide. Meanwhile, Peter was red from the tips of his ears down his neck; if he’d been wearing his suit, there wouldn’t have been a difference between the color of fabric and the color of skin. Tony put two and two together, and slapped his forehead with his hand. “Good God, Walt Disney is dancing in his grave. True love’s kiss? Really? That was it?”

“N-no, Mister Stark, it wasn’t—” Peter was stammering as he dropped to the floor. Tony raised a hand to silence him, turning on his heel and walking back out of the room. “—that,” Peter finished. Your heart squeezed in your chest.

“It wasn’t?”

“What? No! I mean, yes! I mean—” He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut and straightening his spine before he looked at you again. “It wasn’t a kiss that cured you. But it _was_ a kiss. Well, almost. If you wanted it to be. ‘Cause I did, but I wouldn’t if you… didn’t.”

“Peter Parker, you’re the biggest dork,” you said with a laugh. Before he could respond, you snagged his hand, reeling him in until you could loop your free arm around his neck and press your lips to his. He was stock-still for a half-second, then he melted into you, cupping your jaw and sighing contentedly out his nose. When you pulled away, Peter chased you, stealing two more kisses before he dropped his forehead to your shoulder and groaned.

“We’re so dumb. We’re the dumbest ever.”

“True, but why?”

“’Cause you’ve had these mind-reading powers ever since we first met, and if you’d used them, like, any of the times we’d hung out together, you would’ve known how I felt and we could’ve been doing this _months_ ago.” You giggled—honest-to-god giggled—and kissed the shell of his ear.

“Well, we know now. And I’m not dying anymore.”

“That’s not funny,” Peter complained. “I was really worried.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” You trailed your fingers along the back of his neck, delighted by the way he shivered. “I think I still feel a little faint, though. I might need some real cuddle-time to fix all my ailments. If only there were someone who could help …”

“Say no more, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is on the case.” Peter made quick work of unhooking you from all the monitors, scooping you into his arms and heading for the door. Then he froze. “Mister Stark is that way.”

“Window,” you directed, and Peter grinned at you, whipping out a web and swinging you both away from any possible embarrassment at the hands of your shared mentor.


End file.
